


These Walls, Labyrinthine

by cosmotronic



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Realisation, Romance, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: Erin finds herself deconstructed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little stream-of-consciousness Erin piece.
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated.

Erin doesn't love physics, it's just that things tend to make more sense when they are explained according to the rules and regimens and routines of reality. There's a strict, necessary elegence to her equations; the wildest, wackiest theories can have structure and definition like this and even the supernatural can be quantified and calculated and captured in drywipe marker, except that for the longest while _that_ is off-limits to Erin, thrust into a dark corner to gather dust and be ignored.

She remembers her unschooled, untrained young mind searching for answers even though people, all the people she knows, everyone in her whole world tell her she is wrong and the years go by until she almost, almost believes she has imagined the whole thing. Except for the littlest part of her, buried beneath layers and layers and hidden behind her thickest walls, the part that never accepts that she is wrong and they are right, a part of her too tiny to survive alone. After a while it just becomes easier to pretend until the pretending becomes her world and she is left with an Erin who tries too hard, tries to please and pours herself into what people call real science and lives for order. Rows upon rows of neat little boxes containing all the bits and pieces of her world, stacked and placed to a system that is conformity on the outside but twisty and maze-like within her mind, no breadcrumbs to find the real Erin.

Until _she_ comes wandering through, all light and noise and a trail of salty little shards leading herself in and out of Erin's consciousness with ease, drawing signposts on the walls and hiding clues in all the cracks and corners.

Erin finds herself intrigued by the errata that Holtzmann leaves behind, swept up in the new bits and pieces of superfluous data that decorate her inner vaults. She knows that Holtz prefers snacks that crunch because they taste more real and she knows that Holtz wears yellow goggles because sometimes, sometimes things are just a little too real. She knows Holtz is some kind of savant in the way her brain operates faster than the laws of nature should allow, leaping between ideas and practical implementation with unstoppable momentum, but her improvements to kitchen appliances are days, weeks, months in the planning because Holtz has her holy grail and to find that grail is to find the perfect way to toast bread evenly.

Erin likes that she knows the little things about Holtzmann, and even though she doesn't have the faintest idea where she should file all this, how to classify any of this, she starts to let slip the little things about herself, too.

And it's only when Holtz steals her markers but never touches the green one and gives her the last of the blueberry pop-tarts because one time Erin might have mentioned that they reminded her of her grandmother, only then does she realise Holtzmann likes knowing the little things about Erin, too. When Holtz slips her fingers through hers, squeezing tightly when the elevator they are riding in lurches a little too sharply, Erin's composure nearly disintegrates because she's never told anyone why she always angles towards the stairs.

Erin's not used to the attention, the focused intensity, not used to so much unnecessary contact and obvious affection. There's a possibility she has misunderstood it all, mistaken attraction for somebody just being nice, because she's done _that_ before. But no, no, yes, she knows that sparkly, shiny Holtzmann really does desire tweedy, dull Erin and she also knows Holtzmann will let her find her own way bravely along this winding path fraught with obstacles of her own making. And if Erin decides she's never brave enough to follow the arrows that Holtz has scribbled in the aisles of her mind, then Holtz will be her friend, her sweet and silly and selfless friend and no-one else need ever know.

She briefly wonders whether Holtzmann is like this with all the girls, then dismisses the thought, knows it doesn't matter because Holtz is smiling at her, all big blue eyes and teeth and laughter around a mouthful of salt and crunch. Erin feels like she's the only person in Holtz's reality right now and she really, really likes feeling like that.

She never thought she would feel like that, doesn't think she's ever had that kind of positive and singular focus directed at her before. Her parents probably tried, in another life, a life before ghosts and anger and disappointment and psychiatrists who likely couldn't wait until her hour was up so they could stop parrotting their lines about attention-seeking and personality disorders.

She's never had many acquaintences that paid any kind of attention, and none that would ever become more than acquaintences, ever become friends, except for Abby and she ruined that once already. She had colleagues who would stab her and quietly mock. She had men, always the men who loved themselves more than her and saw her as a convienient plus one and she would throw herself at them anyway. Sometimes she had women too, if she's being honest with herself today. Erin would try her best with all of them, pick up whatever scraps of life they'd throw her and cherish the bits and pieces and store them away in the most secure lockboxes of her mind and sometimes take them out and look at them and cry at how colourless her world was.

Now, whenever Erin's world feels heavy and and grey Holtz thumbs the volume higher and struts around her, courts her like a brilliant peacock, a light-hearted contrast in a thousand hues. It's funny and adorable and she smiles and bobs along with the beat, fingers dancing more than her body but it's enough to encourage Holtzmann to pull ever more bold and ridiculous moves. Little by little she feels the weight lifting and a comfortable warmth settling in her belly which, Erin suspects, is exactly what Holtzmann intends when she thrusts her hips just so.

Erin's nervous, but she's not blind and she's not stupid. She knows that Holtzmann is the best thing that's ever happened to her and she knows that Holtz will never hurt her, will be patient and gentle and that she gets Erin in all her imperfection. That behind the quips and the absurdity and the flirting, Holtz understands her more than anyone else has ever cared to. And that even if this is all they ever have – and Erin is still not sure what this _is_ , exactly – it is infinitely more precious than any other bond she can recall.

And then one morning Erin looks at the last of the blueberry pop-tarts on her plate and thinks that what they have could be more, that maybe she can find something worthwhile within herself to offer Holtz. So she flirts back a little, all flustered but not forced and needy like she was with the men in her past and the women in her fantasies. Erin doesn't cringe at the awkward things that escape from her mouth any more, because Holtzmann just takes it all, takes all that she gives and runs with it far beyond what a normal suitor would do.

Holtz isn't normal, could never be just normal, because the world would be infinitely less bright if Holtz was just normal. Normal would be an appreciation of personal space and socks that match and the ability to sit still for more than a minute. Erin suspects there's a label for Holtz somewhere, an acronym for a diagnosis and she is ashamed to think that not so long ago she'd have gladly applied that label, put Holtzmann in a box. She'd have boxed everyone up and labelled everything and stacked it all away neatly, built herself a fort of boxes like a barrier to deflect from the real Erin.

Today Erin knows that the only labels that make any kind of sense for Holtz are adjectives like brilliant and beautiful and extraordinary and she wonders when she'll have the courage to say them.

And the real Erin can almost believe it when Holtz hugs her sideways and calls her amaze-balls and hot stuff and she tries to recall when exactly her barrier broke, when the boxes collapsed away like so much wasteful packaging. She feels open and exposed and for the first time in what feels like forever she can see that isn't such a bad thing, really, not when the world is lit so brightly and Holtz is looking at her like Erin herself has hung all the stars and the sun and the moon to make it so, which is just crazy because Erin could never fly so high.

It does occur to her that maybe Holtzmann needs her weight, that Holtz needs an anchor to hold her to earth, to tether her down because she's so light and bright and free and Erin somehow knows Holtz is afraid she'll float away some day, simply drift off into nothingness and never find her way back. Erin knows it, intuits it, hears it when Holtz stammers out her heart with far too much physical metaphor and with pauses in all the wrong places and all the rules of grammar and society thrown to the wind. And it's just another thing she knows about Holtzmann.

When Holtzmann finally kisses her it's hot and wet and a bit messy and there's far too much tongue. And Erin finds out she doesn't mind that at all, finds she loves that Holtz kisses like Holtz does everything else, with bouyant enthusiasm and boundless energy. She tangles her hands in Holtzmann's hair and devours her with equal passion until they have to pull away to breathe and huff small little giggles into the hot air between them. And then they kiss again and it's slow and tender and Holtzmann's eyes well up a little bit and Erin doesn't say anything, because she knows why. She just holds her for a little less than a minute, lets Holtzmann nuzzle into her neck, soft and warm and alive, twists her fingers through that messy blonde hair until Holtz blows a loud raspberry against the skin below her ear and they giggle some more.

When Holtz announces that they are dating – for real this time – Erin lets her shout it from the rooftops because Holtz is so, so excited and Erin can't bear to crush her again. The old pretence threatens to shout out denials every time she contemplates what that means, exactly, but she feels braver now and Holtz deserves better. They both deserve better. Patty beams and Abby high-fives them both and Kevin claps her on the back. Erin sees Holtz eyeing Kevin like she always does, like she's trying to work out a thousand-year puzzle, so she grabs Holtzmann's cheeks and plants one on her for all the world to see and it's the boldest and most possessive thing Erin's ever done.

Holtzmann is hers, her whole new world and even now they're together, it's always Holtzmann, Holtz, sweetheart. Jillian doesn't seem to fit, doesn't seem to match the reality except very occasionally, every special once in a while when it does fit, but only when dropped from Erin's lips. Like when she listens to Holtz stumbling through more confessions and trying so very hard to use her words to paint her feelings and Erin chokes because she's so proud of her and she tells Jillian that she knows, she hears her.

Or like when they make love and she's got her fingers so deep in Holtz she can't think and she whispers sweet things in Jillian's ear and Holtz comes so hard she thinks she's broken her. Yes, they make love and sometimes they fuck and Erin thought she knew what those terms meant, thought she knew what it felt like to melt under someone, until Holtzmann touches her and she knows she's never been burning like this before, never been anywhere close to her melting point before.

And the best thing, the most precious and wonderful thing, is that Erin is happy and she thinks that she makes Holtz happy too. And Abby and Patty and Kevin are there and they are just happy for _them_.

Their happiness gives her strength and direction and she starts to unpack, to unravel, to integrate her order with another. She doesn't realise what is happening until one day she is naked without barriers, all her fortifications so carefully and lovingly dismantled. The universe calls her on it, plays chicken with her heart so overflowing with happiness and pulls it from her chest and smashes it on the cold concrete. They are on a bust and there's a spark and a sick thud and she sees Holtzmann lying there all small and pale and much, much too still and that’s not right because Holtzmann is never still. She sees Patty doing chest compressions with arms like jack hammers and sees Abby's mouth screaming into her phone and Erin just crumples where she stands, useless and heavy and lost with wet spilling down her cheeks.

There are small splinters of her heart scattered about and she should grab the sharp, bleeding fragments and box them up securely where they can never be shattered again. But Holtz has already rearranged the systematic order of her soul and Erin doesn't know how to process these bits and pieces any more as Abby and Patty share frantic glances over the empty, fading shell of her new world.

Holtzmann is a terrible patient. There are salty crumbs in the blankets, contraband snacks everywhere and Holtz fidgets and itches for her tools when she should be resting and she abuses the nurse call button and Erin doesn't blame her because the nurse is pretty and talkative. But there's only a fragile bandage binding the hole in Erin's chest and Holtz pauses at the stiffening of her shoulders, the careful schooling of her features that is at odds with the fussing girlfriend Erin pretends to be and Holtzmann is so very still again, big blue eyes wounded. Holtz pulls on her yellow lenses and looks at her quietly, sadly through unreality, pleading with Erin to yank on that tether and she almost does. Erin almost grasps the slipping lifeline and she knows she can tie it tight about her waist and use it as a guide to escape the traps that come slamming down all around her, terrifying in their complexity, but instead she turns and runs deeper.

And that's just another thing that Holtzmann learns about her, that she always pushes away when she's hurting when really she should pull the things she loves closer, to hold tight and never let go. And she pushes and pushes and builds her barriers to the ceiling but Holtz doesn't go anywhere, clings on desperately until Erin is ready to pull and Holtz wriggles over in the narrow hospital cot, makes room for Erin and all her emptied-out boxes and lets her cry her fears into the thin hospital gown.

Later, they'll look all about for the little crumbs of Erin's heart. Holtz will pick them all up methodically and put them in a box labelled Jillian, own them and keep them safe within herself and she will dance for Erin. It's a slower dance now, and Holtz will be careful to step in the familiar imprint of their footsteps, careful to hang low in the sky because Erin needs her light to point her way and in turn Erin will vow to hold her close, to be her gravity. It's not always bright and it's not ever perfect but it is precious, this thing that they have. It is precious and sometimes it is even wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> My first story for this pairing. Sorry it's a bit sad. There's some amazing writers out there who do Holtzbert a lot more convincingly than I ever could, but these two adorable dorks grabbed my feels as soon as I saw the movie and never really let go. And I'm in the middle of some serious writer's block in my usual playgrounds... so I figure, what the heck?


End file.
